The Blind Hunter
by imsuper-who-locked
Summary: CIA operative Auggie Anderson has a problem he can't handle on his own. To solve it, he'll have to call on some figures from his past.
1. Chapter 1

Auggie Anderson, covert CIA operative, closed the door to his apartment with a sigh of relief. It had been a somewhat stressful day - Annie Walker, the newbie operative under his guidance, had been sent to Russia to trade intel with a reporter. The reporter had been shot with a sniper before he could make the trade, and it had taken all of Auggie's skill and instinct to get Annie out of there safely. Now she was on a plane back, and he was planning on taking a well-deserved rest.

He made his way expertly to the little kitchenette in his apartment, pulling open his fridge and grabbing a cold bottle of beer. He twisted the cap and took a swig, leaning against the kitchen counter. It was only then that he heard a noise in his apartment.

Auggie froze. The door had been locked when he arrived. The window that led to the fire escape was always locked. But it sounded like something... had been moved.

His CIA training took over. He pretended like he hadn't noticed anything was wrong and took another drink of beer, while feeling behind him for his silverware drawer. The knives were on the very left, handles facing out so he wouldn't accidentally cut himself. He selected one and pulled it out slowly, keeping it concealed behind his back. And then he waited, listening intently.

There was nothing but silence for ten long minutes, and he finally decided that it had just been the building creaking. He didn't let go of the knife, though. He brought it along to his living room area and put it within easy reach on the table in front of him. Then he drank his beer and reached for the remote.

His hand groped nothing but empty space.

Auggie let his hand wander over the surface of the table and finally grabbed the knife again. He was extremely meticulous about where he put things - he had to be. Nothing was more annoying when you were blind than setting something down and forgetting where you put it later. That required exploration of every surface, every couch cushion, and even then you could miss it. He always put his remote in the same place. That it was gone meant that someone had been in his apartment.

At that moment his home phone rang, scaring him so badly that he almost dropped the knife. He swore quietly to himself, stumbling up and tracing his way along his walls to the kitchen. "Annie Walker," the phone told him. Auggie grabbed the phone with one hand. "Hello?"

"Hey, Auggie," said the agent's cheerful voice. Then she paused. "You sound out of breath."

He sighed. "It's been a long day. Your plane just land?"

"Yeah. Actually, I'm almost to my car. I was wondering if you were in the mood for some drinks."

Auggie was about to say no - he really was exhausted - when he reconsidered. "Sure. How about you come over to my apartment? I just bought a new bottle of Patron that I'm eager to open."

"You spoil me, Auggie," Annie laughed. "Be there in half an hour."

He hung up, the knife still gripped in his hand. He wasn't taking any chances until Annie could confirm that his apartment was completely empty.

She knocked about twenty-five minutes later. "Annie?" he called.

There was a pause. "You expecting anyone else?" she asked. He opened the door and leaned against it, his head following her movements as she walked in. Auggie heard the flick as she turned on the lights. "Pretty quiet in here."

He closed the door and locked it, and then turned. "Annie," he said quietly. "Would you mind doing a quick sweep of my apartment?"

When she spoke, her voice was startled. "Uh, sure." She must have noticed the knife in his hand. He waited tensely while she moved around his apartment, opening doors and closing them. Five minutes later she gave the all-clear.

Auggie sighed in relief and went to the kitchen to return the knife. "Sorry. I don't know if I'm stressed out or what, but I thought I heard someone in here. And then my remote went missing."

"Well, I solved that mystery, anyway. Your remote is on top of your TV."

He raised an eyebrow. He never put anything on top of his TV. "Huh. I guess I'm losing my memory, too. Thanks for checking, anyway." He pulled out the tequila and two glasses, and then joined Annie in the living room. A few hours later, his head buzzing pleasantly, he forgot all about the strange noises. Until the next day.

The warmth of sunlight on his face woke him. He turned over, stretching with a relaxed groan. Joan was giving him a well-deserved day off, and he intended to take advantage of it. Keeping his eyes closed, he pushed the covers off his bare chest and laced his hands behind his head, listening to the birds outside his window. He smiled a little, remembering the previous night. He and Annie always had a good time together, and last night had been no exception. His head was pounding a little from the tequila, but the night was always worth it.

He was about to climb out of bed and make a pot of coffee when something rattled in his kitchen.

Auggie froze, one hand fisted in his blanket and the other clutching the edge of his bed. It was the same type of noise he had heard before - something being moved. But Annie had done a sweep and no one had been there. He would have heard if someone tried to leave before she had arrived. Which meant that no one had been in his apartment last night... but there was definitely someone here now.

The noise came again, and confirmed that he wasn't hearing things. He even recognized it this time - his cupboards were opening and closing. His brow furrowed in confusion. If someone had broken in... why were they messing with his stuff? What exactly did they want?

He finally climbed out of bed, being as quiet as possible. He reached for his nightstand and felt around until he found what he wanted - his sound amplifier. He pulled the headphones over his ears carefully and turned it on, pointing the microphone in the direction of the kitchen.

Auggie didn't know what he had been expecting to hear, but a little kid's laughter wasn't it.

"Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black with silver buttons, buttons, buttons all down her back, back, back..." It was definitely a young girl's voice, singing under her breath. He tugged the headphones off and listened again intently, but heard nothing. When the headphones came back on, the song was still being sung. "He jumped so high, high, high that he reached the sky, sky, sky and didn't come back, back, back til the fourth of July, ly, ly." The voice stopped singing, but he could still hear breathing. And then, in a moment, the noise was gone.

He fiddled with the amplifier for a moment, checking that it was still on. It was. All he could hear now was the loud hum of his refrigerator. What the hell was going on? One moment there had been someone in his kitchen, breathing, and then...

His eyes widened. Memories began to surface... memories that he hadn't bothered to think about in years. A few days... so many years ago. What were those names again?

Auggie piled the amplifier back on his table, not bothering to set it up nicely like he usually did. He scrambled out of bed and pulled on some lounge pants, almost knocking his head on the wall in the process. He forced himself to slow down, concentrating on getting to his kitchen without running into anything. His hand found the phone and he dialed a number from memory, his fingers not hesitating with the buttons.

Hundreds of miles away, the phone began to ring in Glencoe, Illinois. Auggie listened through one ring... two... three... Halfway through the fourth ring, the phone was picked up. "Hello?" said a weary voice.

"Mom? It's me."

"August?" She sounded more awake now. "Are you okay? It's five in the morning."

Oops. He hadn't bothered to check the time. And DC was an hour ahead of Glencoe, too. "I'm sorry, I forgot to check what time it was before I called. Everything's fine. I just... I need a favor."

She chuckled. "As long as it doesn't involve me leaving the house anytime soon, it's fine with me. What do you need, baby?"

As the youngest of five boys, he guessed he would never get her to stop calling him baby. Grinning, he ran his hands through his hair. "I need a phone number. It should be on that list you keep in the kitchen, in that left drawer? Unless you moved it."

"Moved away years ago and you still know where everything is," his mother marveled. "Okay, I've got it. What's the number you're looking for?"

"It'll be listed under Winchester."

He heard her mumbling to herself as she looked through the names. "So what's so important about this number that you have to call me at six in the morning your time to get it?"

Auggie stifled a sigh. "Nothing, I just... it's an old friend that I got to thinking about that I haven't called in a while. I'm really sorry about the early hour. I just assumed it was later, I guess."

There was a moment of silence, and he knew his mom had caught the lie. However, she didn't press it. "Winchester. John?"

"That's it." He had her recite the number twice, committing it to memory as she did so. "Thank you so much. Sorry for waking you up."

"Not a problem, baby. You take care." He heard the concern in her voice. She still worried about him, after the accident.

"You know I will." He ended the call, still holding the phone in his hands. His fingers skimmed lightly over the buttons, not pressing them. He didn't want to call unless he was sure, but... but if it was something like he had encountered when he was fourteen, then the Winchesters would be able to help.

He pushed the numbers, put the phone to his ear, and listened to the ring. He got a voicemail, which led him to another number. He had to call again to memorize the numbers, and dialed once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was at the wheel when his phone rang. Sam opened one eye, his expression annoyed. "Fifteen minutes of sleep. Wow, I feel refreshed." Dean glanced at the clock on the dash. It was just after 4 am. With one hand, he dug for his phone and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Is this Dean Winchester?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Uh, yeah. Who's this?"

Sam glanced over, interested now. Usually the only people that called Dean's cell that they didn't know were people who had been in contact with their father.

"I don't know if you'd remember me, but you and your dad helped my family out with a... problem a few years ago. My name's August Anderson. I was living in Glencoe, Illinois."

It took Dean a few moments to remember. Glencoe... Anderson... "Oh, yeah. The little boy spirit was in your basement. It would only show itself to you." He grinned. "Auggie Anderson! Yeah, I remember. But you never liked being called Auggie, did you?"

Auggie laughed. "Actually, I don't mind it so much anymore. Only my mom calls me August now. Listen, I'm living in DC now, and I think I have another problem here that might be something you guys can help me with. You still working with your dad? I tried calling him first, but I got a voicemail that told me to call you."

Dean glanced at his brother. Sam was listening intently to his side of the conversation. He hadn't gone along on that hunting trip - he had only been eight at the time. "Uh, no. He passed away not too long ago."

Auggie's voice was immediately sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"Yeah, well. This job has its risks." He cleared his throat, avoiding Sam's gaze. "I'm working with my little brother now. Sam and I were just heading east anyway. We can be there sometime tomorrow morning, early afternoon at the latest. The address is... okay. Yup, I got it. It's no problem. Yeah. Okay, we'll see you then." He hung up.

"Well?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Dean sighed. "It was a guy me and Dad did a job for a long time ago. You were eight, I was twelve. This kid named Auggie, he kept seeing a little boy following him around, even though no one else in the family could. Turns out the spirit only revealed itself to him because he was the youngest in the family - the spirit had been killed by his older brothers, and wanted to help Auggie murder his own family so he wouldn't have to go through the same thing. Turned out to be just a salt and burn. Anyway, Auggie's living in DC now and apparently he's having another supernatural problem."

Sam nodded. "Beats going to Nowhere, Indiana or wherever the hell you wanted to go. At least DC has decent libraries."

He rolled his eyes. "Geek."

"Jerk."

Dean grinned. "_Bitch_." He pressed on the gas. The miles flew away beneath the Impala's tires as he drove toward Washington, DC.

Three loud knocks sounded, making Auggie jump. He was definitely more paranoid than ever since he had figured out just what was moving his stuff around. The worst part was that he couldn't see it. The last time he had encountered a ghost, he had seen flashes of a small boy everywhere in his house. This time... hell, the thing could be right in front of him at any time, and he'd never know.

On his way to the door, he tripped over something. Biting back a curse, he reached down and felt along the floor, finding a shoe. It was his sneaker. He tossed it off to the side where he wouldn't trip over it again. Then he fumbled with the lock and pulled open the door.

"Hey, Auggie," said a man's voice.

Auggie smiled. "Dean Winchester. It's been a while. Come on in." He stood back from the door and tilted his head slightly, listening to the footsteps entering. "And you must be Sam," he said to the second set of footsteps.

"Nice to meet you," said a slightly deeper voice. Auggie held out a hand and a strong grip met it.

"It's good to see you again," said Dean from his left.

He smiled wryly. Time for the reveal. "I wish I could say the same," he commented. He faced the two brothers and counted in his head. _One, two, three..._

"Oh, hell," muttered Dean. "What happened to you?"

"Explosion in Tikrit. I was Special Ops." He closed the door and latched it again. "And whatever this thing is, it knows I'm blind. It keeps moving my stuff around and it's just a bit annoying."

There was another pause, this one more awkward than the last. Auggie kept his face neutral, waiting. Finally Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, well. Spirits do different things, depending on, you know, how they died, what their life was like. You'll be lucky if this one is just annoying."

"It hasn't tried to kill you?" Sam asked. His voice was calmer, surer than his brother's. He heard him entering the apartment, probably looking for any signs of the ghost.

Auggie took a few steps forward, his hand coming to rest on the back of his chair. He leaned on it. "If putting shoes in my path counts as a murder attempt, then yes. But I haven't gotten a knife in the ribs yet."

Dean snorted. There were rustling sounds... and then a strange whirring that Auggie couldn't place. Something mechanical began to whine, and the noise grated on his ears. It grew louder and he finally had to ask. "What is _that_?"

The ghost hunter sounded like he was grinning. "EMF. Made it myself. It detects electromagnetic frequencies in your apartment. And you definitely have some spirit action in here."

The other voice spoke from near his kitchen. "Do you normally keep your cane on top of the refrigerator?"

Auggie swore. "_That's _where it went. I've been looking for that all morning." He sighed deeply. "Hiding things from the blind guy. This ghost is just plain evil."

He had been hoping for a chuckle, but got no response. At first he thought that the brothers weren't comfortable with his joking about his disability (some people weren't), but after a moment he realized that they were just immersed in their work. He heard Sam murmuring something about poltergeists, and Dean's machine was still making a racket on his left. Suddenly it went crazy, and Dean said, "Sam!"

There were a few moments of silence. Auggie fidgeted nervously. "Uh, guys?" he asked finally.

"We just saw it."

"What? Where?"

"In your bedroom," Dean muttered. "Damn it! Where'd she go?"

Auggie's eyes widened. "The ghost was in my _bedroom?_"

"She's gone now, but yeah." Sam sounded distracted. His footsteps moved away, and then stopped. "You're not going to like this."

Auggie bit back a sigh as he headed in the direction of Sam's voice. The cryptic remarks were really beginning to annoy him. He passed the younger brother and paused when his foot struck something soft. He bent down, fingering it. It was a shirt. He straightened, the shirt in his hands. "Please tell me that thing didn't just rearrange my closet."

A hand clapped his shoulder, making him jump. _Damn, _the man was quiet. "I would, buddy, but it's not nice to lie," Dean said cheerfully. "Looks like you got a mischievous little girl in your apartment. She was grinning like crazy at me. Looked about ten or eleven years. See any injuries on her?"

Auggie almost gave him a smart retort when he realized he'd been talking to Sam. "Nope. Looked okay to me. No sign of any trauma, and she looked downright happy for a spirit."

Auggie moved into his bedroom, picking up articles of clothing and throwing them in the direction of the bed. His hand touched something silky and he froze. "Even my ties?" he groaned. "Man, she's cruel. Anyone wanna tell me what color this is?" He held it up.

"Blue." Dean sounded like he was fighting back a laugh.

Auggie rolled his eyes. "I only have five blue ties. A little more specificity, please?"

Someone moved closer to him and he heard more clothes being picked up. "Dean isn't very creative with descriptions. I'll help you rearrange things, and he'll get to work with finding out about your little visitor. The tie is a light blue with dark blue stripes."

"Thank you." He wandered over to his closet and ran his fingers along the Braille labels above the hooks for his ties, finding the right one and hanging it back up. For the next half hour Sam handed him articles of clothing and Auggie put it in its right place. The little girl ghost had been thorough - she even turned a few things inside out. When they were done, he still had three empty hangers, even though Sam couldn't see any more shirts in his room. He figured they would turn up sooner or later - probably in his oven or under his couch.

Dean came back just as Auggie had put the last hanger in its place. "Talked with one of your neighbors. He's been having the same issues as you. Things taken and hidden, rearranged, furniture moved around. Funny thing is, he said the same thing has happened to him every year for the past five years. This is the worst it's ever been."

"Five years?" Sam's voice was surprised. "Did he say what he thinks is happening?"

His older brother laughed. "I love old people. This guy was in his seventies, sharp as a tack. Outright said it was a ghost. He's heard her laughing, even seen her once or twice. I asked him if he ever felt afraid of it and he said no. She comes every year, plays a few tricks on him, leaves within a week. I got the impression he didn't mind the company."

Auggie cocked his head. "Mr. Windor? That doesn't surprise me. His daughter moved away a few years back and he doesn't get a lot of visitors. I didn't know he believed in ghosts, though."

"Yup. How long have you lived in this building?"

"Almost three years. I moved in a couple months before I went to Iraq."

"And you've never noticed anything strange happening before this?"

The blind CIA operative considered for a moment. "It's March 30th, right? A year ago I was in Barcelona for a vacation, and two years ago I would have been in Tikrit. If she comes back every year, I wasn't around to experience it." The lie flowed easily past his lips. He hadn't been on vacation in Barcelona, of course - he had been helping a young operative on a mission. But Dean and Sam didn't need to know that.

"And you never heard of a little girl dying in this building?"

Auggie just shook his head. There was a brief silence, so long that he started to wonder what was happening. Finally Sam spoke. "We've gotta do some research, then. Find out who this girl was and why she's been messing with you. And, more importantly, where she's buried."

He raised an eyebrow. "Uh... why do you need to know that?"

Dean laughed. "So we can salt and burn her bones, of course. We can't really just ask her politely to leave you alone. We've gotta make sure she doesn't come back. I'll stay here with you while Sam does a little digging. She hasn't tried to kill you yet, but you never know when spirits will act a little crazy. And with you being blind... it adds a bit more of a risk."

They moved into his living room and he heard his door being opened and shut. He settled back on his couch with a sigh. "You'd think these things follow me around," he muttered.

The furniture beneath him shifted as Dean plopped down next to him. "Story of my life, Anderson. Story of my life."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was gone for almost three hours. Dean reflected that he probably should have been the one to tackle the research—knowing his brother, he'd love to spend an entire day in a big library like the ones in DC. But he knew Sammy was the right one for that job. He'd get more information in half an hour than Dean could in two.

Besides, Sam hadn't been on the Illinois hunt all those years ago—he had never met August Anderson. Dean and Auggie had been pretty close in age (Dean 12, Auggie 14) and had actually gotten along really well for those three days they had known each other. Well enough to remember each other years later as easily as they had.

Dean found himself fascinated with Auggie's skill at maneuvering around his apartment. He had asked Dean if he'd wanted a beer and the hunter had graciously accepted. He had watched, impressed, as the man stood up with no hesitation and easily made his way into his kitchen. If Dean hadn't been watching his unfocused eyes, he never would have guessed the man was blind.

As they twisted the caps off their beers, the phone rang. Auggie groaned and set his bottle down, once again making his way to the kitchen. "Annie Walker," said a cool female voice in between the rings. Dean grinned slightly as Auggie's speed increased.

"Annie! What a surprise!" His voice was different, too—warmer, somehow. Dean's smile grew. So, the man had a girl in his life. Good for you, Auggie.

"Ah... it's Friday, isn't it? Shoot." He ran a hand through his long brown hair. "I'm sorry, I forgot. And I kind of have some friends over..."

Dean stood up, motioning to Auggie to talk with him. When the man didn't respond, he almost had to give himself a smack on the forehead. Blind. Duh. "Auggie!" he hissed.

"Could you hold on just a sec?" Auggie brought the phone down to his shoulder.

"If you've got plans, that's no problem. Actually, it's probably better if you're not here when Sam and I get rid of your little visitor. Spirits can get nasty when they figure out what you're doing. It'll be better if you're out of the apartment."

He nodded and put the phone back to his ear. "Annie? It's all good. No, they have some other plans for tonight. Yup... seven? I'll be waiting anxiously." He hung up the phone, smiling to himself. "A coworker," he said to Dean. "A good friend."

"Good friend," Dean repeated, grinning. "Sounded like it."

Auggie laughed. "Yes, good friend. Annie's had some relationship troubles. She isn't looking for romance again anytime soon." But from the look on the man's face, Dean guessed he wouldn't mind it if she did show an interest.

They sat back down on the couch and Dean took a swig of his beer. Auggie's hand reached out and encountered nothing but empty air. "What the hell..." he muttered.

Dean glanced down. "Table's empty."

Auggie sat back. "Well, shit," he said easily. "Little brat." And the next second he let out a yell of surprise.

Dean whirled around—and burst out laughing. The spirit he had seen before was back. Again, he thought she must be ten or eleven years old. She had long straight brown hair and a few freckles dotting her pale cheeks. She wore pretty modern clothes: a green dress and a jean jacket. She was grinning widely at him, revealing a missing tooth. She had turned the missing bottle upside down over Auggie's head, and beer was gurgling out into his brown curls.

"Dean!" Auggie sputtered. The hunter choked back his laughter and stood up, approaching the girl. The minute he got near her she vanished. The bottle fell behind the couch, almost empty. Auggie shook his head, droplets of beer flying.

"Thanks for the warning," he growled. He stood up and made his way to the kitchen for a third time, groping in a drawer and retrieving a towel. He ran it through his hair. "What does she have against me?"

"I saw her again. She was smiling. It's fun for her, Auggie." He picked up the beer bottle and put it on the counter. "Give me a rag, I'll take care of your couch."

Auggie tossed it toward the direction of his voice and Dean caught it easily. He began to mop off the dark splotches on the couch, still grinning. "Man, you should have seen your face."

"I'm just glad I didn't see yours," Auggie muttered darkly. His head turned toward his apartment door a second before Sam knocked. Man, the guy's got ears, Dean thought. Auggie went to let him in.

Sam thanked him briefly as he entered the apartment, and then his gaze turned to his brother. "Sherry Mason," he said. "Died here five years ago. There was a gas leak in the basement of this building. She was down there at the time."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "It took you three hours to get that information?"

"No. Ten minutes. That library was awesome." Dean gave him a look and he just shrugged.

Auggie laughed. "Man! I feel so left out of the conversation."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"These silences... you have a lot of nonverbal communication going on." He leaned against the wall, smiling. "You guys must be really close."

Dean glanced at his brother. "Yeah, closer than I'd like. I've been less than two feet away from this guy for over a year now. Never ending road trip with Sammy here." He grinned and Sam rolled his eyes.

Auggie chuckled again. "If it were me and any of my brothers, we wouldn't have lasted two days like that." His hand found his wrist and he pressed a button on his watch. "6:42 pm," read another voice. "Well. I guess I've got a date pretty soon. I'd better go get ready." He walked away, into his bedroom.

Sam walked toward Dean, keeping his voice low. "That's not all I found out. Sherry and her mom Sabrina lived in this apartment. Sherry died five years ago, and her mom moved out almost immediately. Packed up all of her daughter's things and left."

"You think Sherry is still waiting for her mom to come get her."

His little brother shrugged. "Something's making her stay. She comes back every year around the same time her mom moved, the week after she died." He glanced toward Auggie's bedroom.

Dean scrutinized him. "There's something you're not telling me."

Sam sighed. He lowered his voice until it was only a whisper. "I talked to Bob Windor, too - asked him if he knew Sherry. He said yeah, she was a little trickster. Loved to pull pranks on everyone in the apartment. He always suspected that she was the spirit. And he told me something else. Every year, on April Fool's Day, he hears noises coming from this apartment. Really loud noises, thumping and crashing. And then, at exactly 11:58 at night, he hears a little girl screaming. Hasn't strayed from that schedule in five years."

The older hunter leaned back, breathing out a sigh. "Probably the moment her mom left for good, and she realized she was getting left behind. I bet she doesn't know she's dead, Sam. She probably feels like she fell asleep in that basement."

"Poor kid," Sam murmured. "Anyway, we should probably burn her bones as soon as possible. It sounds like she's going to get crazy in just a few hours."

Dean nodded in agreement just as Auggie reappeared. He was dressed in a dark red shirt and black jeans. His hair was wet, as though he had dunked it in the sink. "Muttering about me?" he asked with a wry smile.

Sam gave his brother a guilty look. Dean just shrugged. "Gonna get exciting around here soon, so we're gonna do our thing while you're out."

Auggie paused, tilting his head slightly. "Should I be worried about my apartment? You guys aren't going to set any fires in here or anything, are you?"

"No, nothing like that," Sam reassured him.

The blind man shrugged. "Just don't mess up my furniture," he said, "and we'll be fine."


	4. Chapter 4

It was only a few minutes later that another knock sounded on his apartment door. "Just a sec, Annie," Auggie called. He turned toward the Winchester brothers, who were both seated on his couch and murmuring quietly to each other. He had caught words like "bones" "cemetery" and "shovels" and wasn't sure he really wanted to hear the whole conversation. "Is there anything major out of place here that may freak her out?" he asked them quietly.

A couple moments passed in silence. "Nope, I think you're good," Dean said finally. Something was pressed into his hand, and his fingers curled around his cane. "Might be dusty. Not sure when you last cleaned on top of your fridge."

He grinned. "Huh. Never even saw all that dust." Dean snorted. "Nope, doesn't work with my mom either." He headed to the door and opened it, leaning against the frame. "Miss Annie Walker, may I introduce you to two old friends, Dean and Sam Winchester."

The smell of grapefruit hit him as she breezed past into his apartment. "Nice to meet you," she said.

Dean's voice was just a little too warm. "Nice to meet you too. Auggie didn't mention how beautiful you were."

Annie laughed. "Thank you."

"I'm Sam," his brother cut in. Auggie suspected he was shooting Dean a look.

"Hello Sam." She sounded close to laughter. "So, Auggie... how'd you guys meet?"

Shoot. He spoke quickly, hoping that Dean and Sam's expressions weren't giving anything away. "When we were kids. They lived across the street from me in Glencoe. We hung around until they moved, but we got pretty close."

To his surprise, Dean's voice was just as confident as his—and maybe even a little smoother. "Yup. Little Auggie Anderson. Me and his older brothers used to pick on him and Sammy all the time." Auggie grinned in Dean's direction to complete the lie, impressed. The man lied as easily as a CIA operative. He wondered how often he had used the ability for his jobs.

Luckily, that explanation was enough for Annie. "Sounds sweet." Her arm laced through Auggie's, and he felt himself relax at her familiar touch. He had felt like he was almost a part of a different world for the past few hours –smelling her perfume and hearing her voice was bringing him back to reality. "Do you guys want to join us?"

"Oh, no," Dean said. "Sammy and I, we're beat. We were just gonna hang out here and sleep off our ride. You guys go ahead."

Auggie steered Annie toward the door. "They're kinda crazy when they drink," he stage whispered to her. "I'm worried they'll get us kicked out."

"You know you're just jealous, Anderson. I could pick up ten times the girls you could," Dean called back to him.

He turned back toward the sound of Dean's voice, eyes mischievous. "Is that a bet?" he asked. "You know, the ladies love a blind guy."

Dean's voice was amused. "Oh, you're on, Auggie. Tomorrow night, we settle this."

Sam groaned as Annie laughed. "Now this I gotta see."

"Come on, Annie. It sounds like I have to practice some of my pick-up lines on you." He nodded in the Winchester's direction. "Don't mess up my apartment while I'm gone." His voice was only half-joking.

"No worries," Dean replied. But as Annie closed the apartment door behind him and they started down the hall, he wondered whether he would have to spend the next few weeks memorizing a new layout... or combing the place inch by inch to find all of his stuff.

The moment the door closed, Dean turned to his brother. "Man, she was hot."

"Dean," Sam said, exasperated. "The guy's blind, and you're hitting on his girl?"

"I complimented her!" he protested. "And you heard what he said. The ladies go for him."

His little brother didn't bother to reply to that. He glanced around the apartment, as though memorizing the location of each object. "So are we going now?"

"We gotta wait for them to leave first. It would be a little weird if she saw us hopping off the fire escape, wouldn't it?" Dean flopped down on the couch with a sigh. "So we just get to relax for a few minutes."

Sam glared down at him. "You just moved his couch, Dean."

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did. It moved like three inches." Sam went around the couch and pushed it. "You better hope he doesn't whack his shin on it or something."

"Paranoid little bitch," Dean muttered.

"What was that?"

"God, I have an itch." He pretended to strain to reach a spot on his back. Sam rolled his eyes, not fooled.

Ten minutes later they headed out to the cemetery where Sherry Mason had been buried.

Auggie fingered his beer bottle, completely relaxed for the first time in a while. The familiar noises of the tavern sounded around him as he took a swig.

Annie sighed next to him, and he turned his head toward her, grinning. "What was that? That was the loudest sigh I've ever heard."

Her hand slapped him lightly on the shoulder. He didn't flinch - he had been expecting it. "There's no hiding anything from you, is there?"

"Of course not," he replied confidently, tilting back and balancing his chair on two legs because he knew it made her nervous. She had told him the tavern was emptier than usual tonight, so he wasn't worried about knocking into anyone. "Now tell me what's bothering you."

"It's..." She paused, and for a moment he thought she wasn't going to finish. He waited patiently, and finally she continued. "It's just that I'm seeing Ben more and more recently, and I'm not quite sure how to react to it."

Auggie had to stop himself from groaning. Ben had been Annie's love interest before she had joined the CIA - they had had a very passionate three-week long relationship before he had to leave her. He up and left in the middle of the night, leaving only a cryptic note. He had been most of the reason why Annie had joined the Agency in the first place. Just recently he had popped up again in her life, and Auggie had thought she was taking it well. Apparently not as well as he had thought.

He let out his own sigh and leaned forward so that all four chair legs were firmly on the ground. "I'm not quite sure what to tell you. I've never really run into a problem like this before."

"Yes, you have," Annie replied, the confidence in her voice surprising him. "What about Tash?"

Now he winced. "I was the one who left her," he pointed out. "And thanks for bringing that up, by the way."

He heard the grin in her voice. "I figured I shouldn't be the only one wallowing in self-pity at this table." But then her cool fingers found his hand and wrapped around it, a silent apology. "But you know what it's like to have to work with an... old fling. How'd you deal with it?"

Auggie's phone rang just then, and he pulled it out with an internal sigh of relief. "I'm sorry, Annie, I should take this," he said as it listed off Dean's number.

"No problem. But I'm saving my question." Her voice told him that he hadn't been let off the hook.

He flipped open the phone and put it to his ear. "What? Sorry, I can't hear you. Ladies, can you please quiet down? No, one at a time." He winked in Annie's direction.

"Haha, very funny," Dean's voice grumbled. "Just thought you'd want to know that your ghost problem is taken care of. Sam and I burned her bones, so she shouldn't be messing with you anymore. You're welcome."

"Thank you very much," Auggie said sincerely. "How much do I owe you?"

There was a pause. Auggie held the phone closer to his ear, unsure if Dean was being quiet or the bar's patrons were being too loud for him to hear. "Wow. I don't think I've ever heard anyone ask me that. We don't normally get paid."

"Well I didn't expect you to just clean out my house free of charge, now did I? Are you guys staying in town? We could probably discuss this later—it's getting a little rowdy in here right now."

"Spare me the details, Anderson. Yeah, we're staying for a bit. Sam wants to go to the White House or some shit like that, and we still have to settle our bet tomorrow night. So we'll talk to you later?"

"Looking forward to it," replied the blind man with a grin. He snapped his phone shut.

Annie sighed in relief. "So I'm not the only one you don't say goodbye to. It's just you being generally rude."

His hand snaked across the table until he encountered her glass. He savored her sputter of indignation as he drained the last few swallows. "Rude? Me? Never."

"Okay, that's it. Now you have to answer my question and pay for the next round." She snatched the empty glass out of his hand. "And who cleaned out your house? The Winchesters? I didn't think you'd let anyone rearrange your stuff."

"No, I had a... bug problem." He hesitated for just a brief moment at the lie and hoped Annie didn't catch it. She would never know what was really going on at his apartment if he could help it—not only would she probably never believe him (unless she had proof) but he had found that learning about the supernatural had completely changed his perspective about a lot of things. He almost wished he had never encountered any ghosts or spirits and remained oblivious of them. "Dean works with an exterminating company and he took care of it for me."

"Oh." The explanation seemed to satisfy her. "Okay. Now, back to the issue at hand..."

Auggie rolled his eyes slightly. "I still think it's completely different from what's going on with you and Ben, but okay. Tash and I were already falling apart before the Agency made me break up with her. It was only a matter of time before one or the other of us did it on our own terms." At least, that was what he told himself. "Seeing her again, metaphorically speaking of course, was a little heartbreaking... I mean, I had dumped the girl and left her to rot in prison. Not exactly the best way to rekindle an old relationship. But working with her wasn't as bad as I feared. We were able to work together well and just sort of fell back into our own pattern, even though I thought she'd hold a grudge." He could almost feel her eyes on his, knowing the unwavering attention she paid to everyone who spoke to her. "Looking back, I'm glad I got to work with Tash again. We parted on better terms." Even though she left me this time... knowing that I couldn't follow her.

Annie's hand squeezed his again, reassuring. "So, you're telling me not to hold a grudge?" Her voice was doubtful.

"I'm telling you it'll be a whole lot easier to work with him if you don't." Someone approached the table and he felt a cool glass brush against his knuckles.

"Your ten o'clock, Auggie," said one of the bartenders. Annie must have signaled for more beers.

"Thank you," he said, picking up the new glass and taking a drink before continuing. "What Ben did to you was bad. There were a hundred better ways he could have done it. But if you keep playing the part of the wounded abandoned lover... whatever missions Joan sends you on aren't going to go very well. And that doesn't affect just you and Ben, that affects everyone you work with and everyone who has something riding on what you do." His voice was serious, and he hoped his gaze was somewhere near hers. He wanted her to understand what he was saying.

For a few seconds Annie didn't speak. He took another drink of his beer, trying to break the gaze he could feel boring into him. Finally... "Thanks, Auggie," she said softly.

He smiled. "For the excellent advice?"

"Yeah. That, and the excellent company. And the beers, of course." But he heard so much more in her voice, more than he thought she knew she was giving away. His smile grew and he nodded in her direction.

"Always happy to be your knight in shining armor," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

Annie brought him home as she always did—he paid for most of the beers and she paid for the gas. She kissed him on the cheek before he got out of the car, and he waved a hand at her before unfolding his cane and heading up to his apartment. Thank you, God, for Annie Walker, he thought, not for the first time.

He opened his apartment door and closed it with a small sigh. His head was buzzing pleasantly; he had had a few more beers than he usually did tonight. It was probably because of the whole supernatural thing entering his life again. He had hoped his first episode with spirits and poltergeists would be his last.

The blind man stood for a moment in the entrance to his apartment, listening intently. But the sounds he had been hearing for the past few days were gone now. He could hear the whir of the air conditioning, the gentle hum of his refrigerator... he took a few more steps in and tossed his bag to the right, hearing the satisfying thud as it hit the sofa. That was still in its proper place, at least.

With a contented sigh he found his chair and sat himself down, closing his eyes out of habit. He had forgotten to ask the Winchester boys if they had a place to stay. He would have offered his apartment, but it really wasn't big enough for three. He considered calling Dean again, but decided against it. It seemed like the Winchesters moved around a lot—they probably were used to staying in motels.

Stretching a bit, Auggie let out a yawn and reached for his remote.

It was gone.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered. Dean or Sam had probably been watching TV before they had left and put the remote down somewhere without thinking. It was forgivable; they weren't used to dealing with someone who was blind. It made things a hell of a lot more annoying for him though. He leaned forward, feeling along the entire surface of the table. He encountered an empty beer bottle, but nothing else. He rolled his eyes in exasperation and got up, feeling along the cushions of his sofa. Nothing.

He paused. If he hadn't spent the past few years depending almost entirely on sound, he probably wouldn't have been able to pick up the quiet breathing. "Dean? Sam?" he whispered.

There was no answer. He straightened, taking a deep breath. "Sherry?"

Auggie winced as something smacked his forehead. It clattered to the floor, and he knew what it was before he picked it up. The batteries had fallen out of the remote, but right now that was the least of his worries. His head moved from side to side, straining to hear. But the breathing was gone.

With a deep sigh, he pulled out his phone. So much for a relaxing night.

"Dean?" he said after it had rung twice. "Apparently your burning thing didn't work. She's still here."

Dean burst into Auggie's apartment, almost knocking the man down as he did so. "Damn, damn, damn!" he muttered. "What is with these spirits all of a sudden? It used to be when we burned 'em, they stopped. They disappeared. Gone. Poof. Now, half the time they're already cremated and we gotta track down what's keeping them here. Damn spirits!"

Sam rolled his eyes, entering the apartment more gracefully than his brother. "No one ever said this job was easy, Dean," he remarked. Then he turned to Auggie. "You okay?"

Dean glanced over at him. Auggie's forehead had just a small trickle of blood running down that had evidently stopped bleeding quickly. He probably didn't even know he had been cut. "Fine," he said, waving away Sam's concern. "She just surprised me. I didn't expect her to still be here."

"Yeah, well that's our fault," Dean said gruffly. He hated failing at the job. "Now we just gotta find out what the hell we—" He spun around, feeling the sudden drop in temperature. He saw a flash of Sherry in the kitchenette. She flickered out of sight, only to reappear a moment later in the living room. But now she was armed—with a heavy glass bottle of Auggie's liquor.

"Oh, great," Sam muttered, and then she shrieked.

The sound was unearthly. It literally shook the walls of the apartment. Dishes fell with a crash to the floor, and items tumbled off of shelves. Dean grabbed up a nearby book as things began flying through the air—random knickknacks and things from the kitchen like utensils and cans. He whacked at a few of the objects, and then his eyes widened. Auggie was standing in the middle of the living room, dumbfounded.

"Auggie! Down!"

Luckily, the man still had the instincts of someone who had spent time in the military. He was flat on the floor without a moment of hesitation, pressing his nose into the carpet and lacing his hands behind his head. Dean stumbled over to him, the book held in two hands in front of him like a shield. He knocked away a flying glass salt shaker and a heavy ceramic bowl, sending both flying into the walls. The knife, however—that one he missed.

He saw it flying past him from behind, surprised at the red flecks of blood that flew as it passed. For a second he thought that Sam had been cut, and as he whirled around to look at his brother, he felt the sting of pain on his right arm. "Damn!"

"Dean?" Sam's voice was filled with panic.

"Fine, fine," Dean replied impatiently. "Where is the bitch?"

A flash of white from the corner of his eye answered him. He turned, dropping the book and pulling out his gun. Sherry was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, glaring at him. She was paler than she had been before, and her eyes were dark and sunken. Her hair flew around her as though she was standing in a gale of wind.

"Duck!" Sam shouted from behind him, and he was just in time this time. As he bent, he felt something brush the back of his neck. When he straightened up, a bottle of tequila smashed into the wall in front of him, shattering and sending the liquid splashing against the plaster.

Auggie's head poked up and he sniffed. "Was that my Patron?"

Dean whirled around, but the girl was gone. "I'll buy you a new bottle later," he said. "Just stay down." There was movement behind him, but he pegged it as Sam even before he turned. His little brother stepped carefully over the shards of glass from the bottle.

"We missed something," he said.

He snorted. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. Unless you think she had a twin sister nobody knew about that also died in the basement, then we definitely missed something." He ran a hand through his hair, muttering his favorite curse words.

Sam glanced around, but the room was still. "It's two hours to midnight, Dean. Whatever is going to happen, it's gonna be soon. Auggie should get out of here."

"No."

They both glanced down, surprised, as Auggie slowly got to his knees. "One of you already got hurt because of me. I'm not running away just to leave you guys to deal with this."

"It's pretty dangerous for you," Dean said, watching the blind man rise and brush pieces of glass out of his hair. "Are you sure –"

"I'm sure," Auggie said shortly. He felt around for the couch and collapsed on it with a sigh. "So, what did you mean when you said you missed something?"

Dean glanced at Sam. His little brother rolled his eyes and moved toward the door. They only had one source of information on such short notice: Auggie's next-door neighbor. "Spirits need to be tied to something in order to haunt a place like this –usually, if you salt and burn their bodies, you're good to go. But sometimes there's something left behind… a fingernail clipping, a locket with some skin cells on it. We gotta find out what that is, and fast."

Auggie tilted his head, his expression bemused. "Um, okay. I'll leave that part to you. I'm almost afraid to ask, but what's the damage to my apartment?"

He looked around. Shards of porcelain and glass littered the floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere, and the various things that had been on Auggie's shelves were all out of place on his furniture. "I really don't think you want to know."

He groaned, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. "You want to find a way to piss off a blind guy, move all his stuff around," he muttered.

Dean just grunted in reply, still looking around for signs of Sherry. Nothing moved. "You want to find a way to piss off a hunter, keep messing with shit after they've burned your body. She shouldn't be here."

They both looked up as Auggie's apartment door opened. Sam entered, followed by a very confused-looking Windor. "Auggie?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Bob. But our little friend has just become violent. We need to make sure we know everything that you know about her." Auggie stood and took a few steps forward, pausing when his foot struck a stray book. He closed his eyes for a moment, looking frustrated, and then his expression smoothed out. "Anything you can tell us would be helpful."

Robert Windor sighed deeply and moved around to one of Auggie's chairs, sitting on it. "Sherry Mason is—was—my granddaughter."

Dean glanced at Sam. His brother's expression was exasperated. "You know, you could have told us that in the first place," he said.

"I know, I just... I like seeing her around the apartment. Seeing her pull her little jokes. It's almost like... like she's alive again. You fellas asking didn't seem like you wanted to know just for the heck of it. You looked like you wanted to get rid of her."

"Yeah, well, she's sure pulling some tricks now. She almost killed your neighbor tonight, and probably would have if we hadn't been here." Dean tried not to snap at the old man, but really—people could be so stupid. "We need to know if there's anything that could be keeping her spirit here. Some clothes, a toy, something of hers that you have in this building."

Mr. Windor paused, his brow screwed up in concentration. "Well... I gotta lock of her hair saved from when she was a little girl."

Sam nearly groaned. "That'll do it," he muttered. "Mr. Windor, I need you to show me exactly where that lock of hair is." He grimaced at his brother as Windor turned his back. Dean just glared back. Civilians.

Auggie took another step forward and his hand reached out, finding Dean's shoulder. His fingers skimmed down his arm, and he paused. Auggie's hand withdrew and Dean glanced around to see him rubbing his fingers together. The tips were now coated in blood. "You're bleeding," he said in surprise.

"Dean."

He glanced up at Sam, who had turned around and was now glaring at him.

"It's a little cut, Sammy. I'm not going to fall over and die." He moved toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath. "Sheesh, I've been shot multiple times, beat up, and a little cut freaks him out."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Make sure he takes care of that, would you, Auggie?"

"Just call me Nurse Anderson," the man replied smoothly.

Dean almost choked.


	6. Chapter 6

Auggie dug around in his bathroom drawer, searching for the first-aid kit. He hadn't needed it for a while, and there were both good and bad reasons for that. The last few times he had needed it were to fix up cuts he had given himself while he was still getting used to being blind—the time he had sliced his fingers trying to cut an apple, and the serious cut he had gotten on his chin from a failed attempt at shaving. He hadn't done anything like that for a long time, which was good. But before his accident he had needed the kit often. Undercover ops could get dangerous. He had been bruised, beaten, gotten cuts and scratches while in the field. For obvious reasons, he hadn't sustained any of those types of injuries for a long time, either, which wasn't so good.

He paused, lost in that train of thought. How long had he been pestering Joan about letting him do some field work? Since a month or two after the accident, for sure. He got that he was blind, that it was even more dangerous for him now—but wasn't he the best judge of what he could and could not do? It was just like now. Dean and Sam were trying to cut him out just because he couldn't see. His hands clenched on the lip of the drawer for a moment, and then he let out a sigh. He had a guest to attend to.

He finally found it hiding underneath a pile of old towels. His fingers passed over the Braille lettering that spelled First Aid and he pulled it out. Dean was sitting on the toilet behind him, pressing a wet rag to the wound.

"Alright, shirt off," Auggie ordered.

"If I had known you swung that way…" Dean muttered, but Auggie heard the quiet noise of the fabric as he tugged it off.

Auggie sat back and tilted his head toward the sound of Dean's voice, pretending to be deep in thought. "Nope, you looked better with the shirt on," he said finally. He heard Dean's chuckle as he felt around the kit for some peroxide and gauze.

"I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that to me in my life," Dean mused.

Auggie grinned in his direction. "Neither have I."

"Here, here, let me do it." A pair of hands pushed his away as Dean snatched the box away from him. "I can patch up my own arm. And I don't know how comfortable I am with having a blind guy clean out my wound."

"You've got a point there." Auggie moved away, toward the sink, to give Dean some room. "So what's happening at midnight?"

A brief moment of silence. Auggie listened to the crinkle of paper as Dean opened a package of gauze. Finally the hunter sighed. "No point in not telling you, I guess. At midnight Sherry's supposed to go ultra-psycho—probably like what she just did, but worse. Spirits get more violent the longer they're stuck here. If you had been here while she was like that the past two years… she probably would have killed you."

He blinked. "Oh. Okay." He stood up, turning on the faucet and rubbing his hands through the warm water. He could feel the dried blood on his fingertips, and while he had of course felt blood before, the feeling was starting to creep him out.

There was a hiss as Dean applied the peroxide, and then the hunter sighed. "There. Good as it's going to get." Auggie heard him throw away the gauze's wrappings and pull on his shirt again. "Now let's go burn that bitch for good."

Sam followed Windor into his apartment. It had the same layout as Auggie's, but other than that it was completely different. It would be evident to anyone entering that a man living alone occupied the space - it was almost devoid of color, and there was a definite smell of beer in the air. Empty cans were littered around and there were random piles of clothes scattered about. Sam told himself that the mess could have been caused by the spirit, but he had a suspicion that the place always looked like this.

Windor paused in the middle of his living room, glancing around. "Hmm... now where the hell did I put that envelope..." he murmured to himself.

Sam turned to see if he could find any envelopes in plain view. Bad idea. The moment his back was turned, he heard a whooshing noise from behind him. He whipped his head back around just in time to catch a fist to the jaw. He stumbled back, completely caught by surprise.

"I'm sorry," Bob said, both fists clenched. He was breathing hard. "You wanna get rid o' little Sherry. That ain't gonna happen. I love that girl too much to let you get rid of her."

The hunter took a few steps back, reaching for his gun. It was filled with rock salt—it wouldn't kill the man, but it would definitely take the fight out of him. "Mr. Windor, you don't understand," he said slowly. "Sherry is going to hurt people. She can't help it. All spirits turn violent eventually. If we let her go, she'll be at peace."

Tears shone in the old man's eyes as he shook his head. "I'm so lonely," he whispered. "Sabrina can't come back here to visit, not after what happened. All I have is Sherry. And she's not leaving." He took a few bumbling steps forward, swinging his fists.

After a moment's thought, Sam put down the shotgun. It was his second big mistake. He thought that the rock salt might hurt the old man more than he suspected—hell, the shock of getting shot could send him into a heart attack! He didn't look all that confident with his fists, either, so Sam figured he'd be able to knock Windor out of commission without seriously hurting him.

He was dead wrong. Windor lunged at him, and the minute Sam ducked away he barreled into his side, knocking him over the end table in the living room. Sam felt the wood crack apart beneath him as all his weight fell on the piece of furniture. He twisted around and felt another fist smash into his face. He pushed Windor off of him with both hands and scrambled to his feet, turning—and coming face to face with the shotgun's barrel.

The old man held the gun in shaking hands. "Just go away," he pleaded. "Just leave us alone."

Sam took a few moments to assess the situation. Even if Windor shot him, he wouldn't die—if the old man shot below his head. A head shot could prove fatal, even if the shotgun wasn't shooting bullets. "Okay. Okay, I'm leaving now. Just put down the shotgun, Bob."

Windor shook his head violently. "You're going to get your brother," he whispered. "I can't let you do that."

"Sherry isn't at peace. She's stuck waiting for her mother who's never going to come. Sooner or later she's going to start killing people. One of those people could be you."

"She knows me. She wouldn't kill me."

Sam's eyes locked with Windor's. He felt a wave of pity for the old man, who looked so scared. "She doesn't know you. She doesn't think like a regular person. All she knows is pain. You can help her stop the pain."

He thought that he almost had the old man convinced. He took one step forward, and then another. He held out his hand for the gun - and suddenly Windor's face screwed up in rage.

"I'm not going to let you kill her again," he hissed, and pulled the trigger.


	7. Chapter 7

Both Dean and Auggie's heads snapped up at the noise. "Was that a gunshot?" Auggie asked.

He heard the sound of something getting knocked over, and Dean grunting as he pushed open the bathroom door. "Sammy?" he called. Auggie heard hard thumps as the hunter ran through his apartment.

"Oh, hell," Auggie muttered, moving carefully out of the bathroom after Dean. Each step was slow and cautious - he had no idea what state his apartment was in, but it sure wasn't as neat and tidy as it usually was. "Dean? What happened?"

There was no answer but his apartment door sliding open and then slamming shut. Auggie froze. "Oh, come on," he muttered, frustrated. "Damn brothers."

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was panicked. He ran down the hall to Windor's apartment. The door was already open. He flew through it and barreled into the old man without a second thought. He barely had time for his eyes to widen before Dean was on top of him, ripping the shotgun out of his hands. Dean grasped it in both hands and whacked it over the top of Windor's head. The man crumpled almost immediately.

Dean scrambled over the old man's body to his brother's, lying nearby. Sam was on his back, his eyes scrunched shut in pain. "Sam? Sam, you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," his little brother breathed, making him sigh in relief. "Damn, rock salt hurts."

Now that he knew Sam was fine, Dean could relax. "Hurts like a bitch, don't it? And I don't feel sorry for you at all." He raised an eyebrow.

It took Sam a few moments. "Oh, come on, Dean! I was possessed when I shot you! It was that crazy doctor in my head!"

"Uh-huh. Still hurt." He got to his feet and pulled Sam up with him, putting an arm around him when he swayed. "You good?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered. He glanced down at Bob Windor. "Oh, no. Dean—you're such an idiot."

Dean threw his brother an indignant glare. He had just run into this apartment to help his little brother, had knocked out the guy who had attacked him, and he was an idiot? Sam crossed his arms and glared right back. "How are we supposed to interrogate an unconscious man? Now we have no idea where the little girl's hair is."

"Well, I'm sorry for saving your life, Sam," Dean replied sourly. "What the hell else was I supposed to do?" He turned quickly, tempted to slam his hand into the wall. He restrained himself—barely. "We have a little over an hour. We turn the guy's apartment inside out." He glanced down at Windor. "Don't think he'll mind. It's already a dump."

A loud thump made them both look up. Auggie was bent over in the doorway, a look of pain on his face. "I think I broke a toe. What the hell did I just run into?"

"Uh... You really don't wanna know," Dean muttered. Windor was going to have one bitch of a headache when he woke up. At least Auggie hadn't been wearing shoes when he kicked the man in the head.

The blind man leaned against the doorway, unfocused eyes narrowed. "So, anyone going to let me know what happened?"

Half an hour later, Windor's apartment had been nearly torn apart from top to bottom. Auggie sat at the man's desk, feeling through his piles of papers and setting aside any envelopes he found. Sam and Dean alternated between searching every inch of the rooms and tearing open the envelopes. "Maybe it was a lie," Dean said finally, the frustration evident in his voice. "Maybe he just said that to get you into the apartment alone."

Sam's voice replied from somewhere to Auggie's left. "You better hope it wasn't. Otherwise we have no idea what's holding Sherry here. And we only have forty minutes left."

Auggie put another envelope on the pile and sighed. "I guess I could probably call up Annie, then. Might be a good time to split the scene." This was no longer an issue of pride. He had finally figured out that things were getting dangerous.

A few moments of silence. Auggie tilted his head, guessing that the brothers were exchanging glances. "Well, you could try," Sam said doubtfully. "But at this stage in the game, I'm guessing she's not going to let anyone leave."

"I've been kinda waiting for the doors to slam shut any minute now," Dean agreed. "After all, I'm guessing she spent just as much time in this apartment as she did in her own, since this was her grandpa's place. Might as well make our stand in here."

"We left the bag in Auggie's room, Dean. I'll go grab it."

Auggie guessed that he wasn't the only one who jumped at the sudden bang. He raised an eyebrow. "Well. I think she can hear us."

"Damn it!" Dean swore. There were some rattling sounds that were easy enough to identify—Dean trying to open the door. "Yeah, she heard us, all right. At least we still got the shotgun. Any salt in the kitchen, Sammy?"

Sam's voice came from further away now. "Yeah, some. But no iron that I can see. We gotta find some way for Auggie to protect himself. He's the one in the most danger."

Auggie sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was starting to actually miss his desk back in Tech Ops. If I get out of this alive, he told himself, I'm not going to beg Joan for a field assignment for at least a week.

"Ah, here we go." Something long and heavy was pressed into Auggie's hands. He ran his fingers over it curiously. "A skillet?"

"It's made out of iron. It'll repel Sherry if she tries to..." Dean trailed off.

Auggie decided not to ask. He just nodded and gripped the handle of the skillet firmly. He felt a little ridiculous.

There was a groan from the coach. Sam and Dean went quiet, and Auggie could clearly hear the sounds of someone sitting up. "What the hell happened?" mumbled Windor. "Auggie? What are you doing here?"

"He's saving your ass, that's what he's doing," Dean snapped.

"Dean..."

"Look, I know that she's your granddaughter. And I'm sorry. But she is trying to kill people, and we are not going to let that happen. So you either help us stop your granddaughter from suffering anymore, or you don't and we lock you in the closet until this is over." The hunter's voice was cold and firm. Auggie got the sense that he had absolutely no tolerance for people who got in his way.

Sam spoke now, his voice gentler than his brothers. "Sherry is suffering, Mr. Windor. We're trying to help her."

There was a moment of silence. Then Bob spoke again, his voice thick with tears. "Are they telling the truth, Auggie?"

Auggie sighed deeply, facing toward Windor's voice and wishing he could meet the man's eyes. "They are. I swear. Trust the Winchesters. They know what they're doing."

Bob sniffed. "Okay. I'll help. What do we have to do?"

"We need that lock of hair," Dean said immediately. "Where is it?"

"It's in my safe." Auggie heard the man moving around, back toward his bedroom. Dean followed—he could tell by the tread of his footsteps. Sam was taller than his brother, and just a little louder when he moved.

It was only a few seconds later that Auggie felt the drop in temperature. "Oh, hell," Sam muttered. "Dean? Would you hurry up?"

The response was a loud crash. Auggie jumped up, knocking over the chair, the skillet held in his hands. "Sam? What happened?" he shouted.

"Dean!" Auggie heard steps running away, toward the bedroom. He swore loudly and followed, one hand on the wall and the other wrapped around the pan's handle in a death grip. A moment later, something pushed him. He felt a pressure on his chest, almost like a small girl's hand, but it wasn't just a little push. He flew backward, into the wall. Auggie's head cracked against it and he slid down with a moan.

An icy hand slid around his throat, and cold fingers tightened their grip.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean picked himself up from the wreckage, grabbing the sawed-off from where it had fallen a few feet away. Windor was down again, and this time it didn't look like he'd be getting up anytime soon. A trickle of blood was creeping down from his forehead, and his mouth was open slightly. He didn't have time to check if the old man was breathing, though. He walked toward the safe, which had thankfully been opened by Windor moments before the ghost appeared.

Inside the safe was a pile of papers, a Rolex, and a cardboard shoebox. He grabbed the box and opened it, rifling through faded photographs and old letters. His hand found a plastic bag and he held it up, grinning. A lock of blonde hair, wrapped in a rubber band, was zipped into the bag. "Jackpot," he muttered, putting down the gun and reaching in his jacket for his lighter.

His hand groped his pocket. The lighter was gone. He whirled around. Sherry was standing in the doorway, a cold smile on her face. In one hand she held his lighter. She didn't say anything, but he could almost read the words in her eyes: Looking for this?

"You little bitch," he muttered, picking up the gun.

Sam, unfortunately, chose that moment to open the door. Sherry flicked her hand, sending him reeling into the room. The door slammed.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, running past him to the door. He shook the knob wildly and then kicked right below it. He earned nothing but a jolt up his leg that made him grit his teeth. He whirled around. Sam was picking himself up off the floor, looking slightly dazed. "You okay?"

His little brother's eyes widened. "Dean, where is she?"

"She went out there." Dean realized what his brother was getting at. "Hell, Auggie's out there!" He kicked the door once more, but Sherry wasn't letting them out that easily. He held up the plastic baggy. "Give me your lighter. Now."

Auggie's hands locked around Sherry's wrists, trying to weaken her grip. It was pointless. He could feel the ghost's cold aura surrounding him, her breath across his face, even her hair on his forehead. He sputtered, releasing one hand and trying to find that skillet. He had dropped it somewhere... but where?

His hand flopped limply to the floor a moment later, and he felt his consciousness slipping away. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the inevitable, and for one fleeting second, thought of Annie.

There was a flash of heat against his face, a little girl's scream in his ears—and the pressure around his neck vanished.

Auggie gasped, scrambling up and massaging his neck. He coughed wildly, leaning his head back against the wall. A moment later a hand clapped his shoulder. "Auggie! Auggie, you okay?"

It was Dean. Auggie breathed hard, shaking his head. "How... in the hell... do you do this... every day?" he finally managed to ask.

He could almost literally hear Dean grinning. "Aw, come on. You can't tell me you didn't think that was just a little bit fun?"

Auggie threw him a disbelieving look. "Fun. Yeah, that's the word I would use." Without thinking—or maybe just because he had had his head knocked around a lot in the past few minutes—he muttered, "Maybe I really am not cut out for field work anymore."

"Huh?"

He quickly realized his mistake. "Nothing, nothing."

Dean was silent for a second. "You work at the Smithsonian, right?"

Auggie started to get up and accepted Dean's hand. The hunter pulled him to his feet, putting an arm around him when he swayed slightly. "Yeah. Yup. Smithsonian. Boring desk job." He stumbled to the table and gripped both hands around the back of the chair. "I need a drink. Anyone else want a drink?"

Dean laughed. "I gotta say, Auggie—I really like you."

Twenty minutes later, the EMTs wheeled out Windor on a stretcher. The man was alive and breathing, but the paramedics thought he might have had a concussion. "You say a robber did this?" Officer Daniels asked, a little skeptically.

Auggie nodded. "I was alone in my apartment when I heard shouts, about twenty minutes ago. I came over as fast as I could, but I gotta admit I wasn't much help. The guy probably knocked Bob out before I even got there, because the minute I stepped in the door his hands were around my throat." He grimaced. "Choked me into unconsciousness. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor, and the guy was gone. I went back to my apartment and called you."

"He didn't speak to you at all?"

"No, sir. I'm really sorry - I wish more than anything I could give you more than that, but..." He smiled wryly. "I gotta say, I didn't see anything."

An awkward silence followed. Auggie sighed internally as the police officer cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well. I'm sure Mr. Windor will be able to give us a bit more when he wakes up. We'll contact you if we have any more questions."

"Of course," Auggie replied, following the officer to his apartment door. Then he turned and made his way to his fire escape, opening the door that led outside. He felt Dean and Sam brush up against him as they passed.

"Thanks, man," Dean said gratefully from in front of him.

Auggie folded his arms. "You're still not going to tell me why you had to avoid the police?"

Sam coughed a little nervously. "Ah, well... being a hunter doesn't always allow you to be on the right side of the law. Grave-digging is kind of illegal."

He sensed that there was more to the story, but let it go. He probably didn't want to know, anyway... but he thought he might look up Dean and Sam's names in the CIA database the next time he was in the office. Just for curiosity's sake. "Okay then. So, you're positive she's gone this time?"

They had walked into the living room, and he heard Dean settling himself on the couch. "You said you felt a flash of heat, right? She went up in flames. And I have never had a spirit come back from that yet. I would say that your apartment is 100% ghost-free."

Auggie sat next to him, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank God for that." He reached forward, finding his remote exactly where he had left it. Dean and Sam had quickly cleared up as much of his apartment as they could before the cops had come—it would have been harder to explain the damage in two rooms than just in Windor's, and Auggie's was easier to clean up. He knew things were out of place—probably almost everything, in fact—but tried not to think about it for the moment. That was a problem for tomorrow. "So, seriously, guys, how much do I owe you?"

He sensed the brothers exchanging some sort of glance. "You buy the drinks tomorrow, and we'll call it even," Dean said finally.

Auggie started to protest but the hunter cut him off. "No, Auggie. This is what Sam and I do. We save people. We don't do it for money –we do it because we're some of the only ones who can. We're not going to charge you for it."

He shrugged. "Well, anytime you need a favor, don't hesitate to call. No matter what it is. I have a few... connections in the government. I might be able to help more than you'd think."

"Well, that's... cryptic," Dean snorted. "But thanks."

Auggie grinned. If only they knew how exciting his life really was... but it would probably never be nearly as exciting as theirs.


	9. Epilogue

"Here it is," Auggie said, sweeping out toward where he knew Allen's was with a grand gesture.

The music seemed louder than usual tonight and a burst of women's laughter suddenly pierced his ears. Auggie could hear the grin that must have been on Dean's face when he said, "Looks good to me. So, how are we judging this?"

"First to ten phone numbers?"

If Dean thought that was unusually high (or low), he didn't say anything. "You're on." That rough, road-worn hand shook Auggie's and he gripped it hard, grinning in Dean's direction.

"Good luck. Based on how I remember you looking when we were kids, you'll probably need it. Buck-toothed, weren't you?"

Dean just chuckled. The noise of the tavern got louder as someone opened the door and Auggie followed Annie's lead inside. He heard a small sigh from Sam, who was just behind them. Clearly the little brother did not enjoy these sorts of activities as much as his elder sibling.

Auggie listened intently, picking up familiar voices instantly. "Christine! Jessie! How are you girls doing tonight?" He already had their numbers (and may have spent a passionate night with Christine a few months back), but he heard new voices mixed in with theirs. Annie guided him toward their table.

The high-pitched laughter went silent for a moment. He raised his eyebrows and then heard Christine say, in a hushed voice, "Who are _they_?"

His stomach dropped slightly. Dean didn't miss a beat, stepping past him and saying loudly, "The name's Dean. This is my brother Sam. We're friends of Auggie's, just dropped in to say hi for a few days."

Annie leaned over to whisper in his ear. "They're looking at him like he's a succulent dessert. I'm sorry, Auggie, but I think you lost this one before it even started."

He looked in her direction. "_Succulent dessert_? Oh, Annie, please tell me you're not going to be hitting on him too."

"They're both just so _gorgeous,_" she sighed. He elbowed her—hard—and she flinched. "Okay, okay. Wanna browse the tables, look for potential dates? I can hide in a corner."

Auggie heard Dean's booming laughter at the table right in front of them and could tell by where it came from that he was now sitting. It sounded like there were at least seven girls, and based on the ones that he did know, they would be passing Dean's phone around and putting in numbers within minutes. "Nah. Like you said, a battle lost before it began. Is our usual table open? Let's just sit down. I'll let Dean have the win."

Soon they were each settled back in their chairs, beers in hand. Auggie leaned toward Annie and said, "Now I'm curious. Just what exactly do Sam and Dean look like now?"

"Like Greek gods," she sighed in reply.

He raised his eyebrows in her direction and she laughed. "Dean is blonde, really short hair, built like a damn football player, really amazing green eyes. Sam… the guy is a giant, but you probably could already tell that. He's got really long brown hair to his shoulders, brown eyes… the funny thing is, they don't look much like brothers to me. Except for the way they look at each other and talk to each other. Then you can tell they're really close." Her voice suddenly lowered. "Sam's coming."

The giant that was Sam lowered himself in the chair to Auggie's right and sighed deeply. "Dean is up to fifteen and counting. And I'm not going to hear the end of it until next week sometime. So thanks for that."

Auggie laughed. "How 'bout a round of beer on me to make up for it?"

They got another round and fell into easy conversation. Sam wanted to know all about working for the Smithsonian. As part of their cover, both Annie and Auggie had to keep up-to-date on the latest exhibits and future projects, so they were able to lie about their jobs convincingly. When Annie asked Sam about his job, the hunter shrugged it off easily. "Oh, it's not too exciting. You don't get into much trouble with bug-hunting. Working with my brother… we have good days and bad. It's been alright lately."

Auggie could sense hundreds of untold stories in his tone. He was puzzled but knew better than to ask with Annie sitting directly across from him. He wondered if it had something to do with John Winchester. Just as he was working up the nerve to ask what had happened to their father, a hand slammed down on the table next to him, making him jump. Dean's voice was louder than necessary in his ear, and the smell of vodka washed over him. "Eighteen. Count 'em."

Auggie held out his hand and a napkin was placed in it. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the indentations that the pens had left in it. "Annie?" he asked, holding it out to her for confirmation.

She pretended to muse over it for a while. "I don't know… there might be a few repeats here. And I'm pretty sure this one is the rejection hotline."

"I still believe that I won. Dean Winchester is officially the better ladies' man." There was a thud as he sat at the last seat between Annie and Sam.

"That's just cuz the girls here are all used to my _blinding _beauty by now. You're fresh meat. If we would have given it a few days, they would have come flocking back to me. Although according to Annie, you've got the build and face of a Greek god."

He expected the slap that she gave him, so he managed not to flinch. The image in his head of Annie was blushing furiously. Dean chuckled. "Well, you could definitely be a goddess, Miss Annie Walker."

There were a few strange noises that he figured was Annie knocking things over as she stood. "Oh God. I am not drunk enough for this. I'm getting us another round." She stumbled off.

Auggie could tell that she was out of earshot when Dean leaned forward. "But seriously, man, any time you have a problem like this again, call us. Here, I'll give you my new number and Sam's. Look, now you have two!"

The CIA operative rolled his eyes. "Both from men. The guys at the office would be so proud. And thank you guys so much for what you did. It's not often I admit to needing help… but this one would have been beyond me."

Sam's hand clapped his shoulder. "That's what we're here for. We should probably get going; we've got a long drive ahead of us. Next case is in Dallas, Texas."

"Thank God, somewhere warm for once." Dean's hand gripped his again and Auggie was surprised to find himself pulled up for a one-armed embrace—he hadn't even heard the older hunter stand up and with his ears that was saying something. He shook Sam's hand once more and then heard Annie return.

"Leaving already?" she asked, sounding disappointed.

"We've got a bit of a drive. It was really nice to meet you."

There was a brief pause as the Winchesters embraced Annie and then said their goodbyes. Auggie folded the napkin with their phone numbers and put it safely in his pocket. He would have Annie program the digits in his home phone later.

They drank in silence for a few moments, and then he heard the clunk of Annie's mug on the table. "So… bug exterminators, huh?"

He suddenly felt nervous. To cover it, he grimaced and said, "Do you know how a blind guy finds out he has a bug problem? Mostly by touch. By feeling little weevils crawling over you in the middle of nowhere. Not very fun, let me tell you."

"It's funny… I don't think I've ever seen an insect in your apartment."

"Well you turn in the lights all the time. That's when they hide."

The pause told her that she wasn't buying any of his crap. He took a sip of his beer and tried not to look guilty. Damn, the whole lying thing was so much easier when it was so someone who wanted to interrogate/torture/kill you. Lying to your best friend… that was so much harder.

When she spoke next, her voice was softer. "Is this something need-to-know for work?" she asked.

He hesitated. "It's more… something need-to-know in general. Not really work related. Nothing to worry about."

"Alright." He felt her hand, warm and soft, settle on his. "But everything is good now?"

Auggie smiled at his best friend. "Yes," he said confidently. "Everything is just fine."


End file.
